


Unrequited

by Vex_ation



Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures
Genre: Black / White / Bianca are all bi in this fic just as an FYI, It's not important to the story but I thought y'all should know, Love Letters, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vex_ation/pseuds/Vex_ation
Summary: Cheren writes a letter he doesn't intend on delivering.
Relationships: Black (Pokemon Adventures) / Cheren, One-Sided - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Unrequited

You were the first person I had a crush on. Honestly, I’m pretty sure you were the one who helped me figure out I was into boys in the first place. We were six, if my memory serves.

You were charging ahead towards your goals as usual, insisting that yes, you could and would catch that pokemon you wanted in the tall grass. I, ever the coward, watched as you came back covered in scratches each night only to patch yourself up, bury yourself in books, and try again the next morning. Back then there was no pretense of annoyance or stoicism, just the raw unfiltered concern that only six-year-olds could have. As worried as I was, however, I couldn’t help but admire your confidence. It was unshakable in the face of every adversity. You could be shredded like last night’s newspaper and still get up again smiling. I think that’s where it started, watching you come out of the tall grass with a bloody nose and bright eyes. 

You never asked me to come with you. Part of me is glad-- I don’t think I had the courage to follow you into the unknown like that. I didn’t then and I don’t think I do now. I would simply sit at the edge, straining my ears to make sure you were still ok out there, waiting for you to come back. Sure, I couldn’t come in there with you, but I could make sure I was waiting for you at the end of the day, there to hold you up and carry you home. 

One day, though, you were the one to support me. I lost track of time, stopped paying attention for a moment-- I don’t really remember what happened, but I ended up on the business end of a Rufflet’s beak. I was not proud of how loudly I screamed. You came running. I don’t remember what you did to scare it off-- knowing you it was probably lots of yelling and waving your arms, maybe a side tackle for good measure. Whatever it was, it worked. 

I remember you standing above me. I can only imagine now how pathetic I must have looked, but you didn’t laugh, you just picked up my glasses, smeared the dirt off on your shirt, and put them back on my face. I remember watching you come into focus, the sun’s rays framing you in a golden halo. I realized then what I know now. It’s embarrassing to admit how fond I was (... am) of you, and yet here we are, me writing you a long and sappy letter about something that was never meant to be. I love you as much as I did then. 

Maybe that’s my whole problem. 

-

You used to drive me crazy. Sometimes, your courage turned into recklessness and your determination into stubbornness. You were self-centered. You left for your journey without saying goodbye, Bianca and I running after you with broken pokedexes and Pokemon who felt as lost and confused as we did. For a while, I was over you. I only wanted to find you to tell you off, hope that maybe I could catch up to you, refuse to let you leave me in the dust. It’s funny how things work, how easily I could get over everything when my mind was clouded with anger.

It wasn’t very fulfilling-- anger never is-- but there was a certain freedom that came with it. I chased after you, trailing just behind, but it didn’t feel like I was living in your shadow. I didn’t feel like the scared little kid in the tall grass. Maybe I couldn’t catch up to you as fast as I wanted to: I still made it that far on my own. Even when you hurt me and left me behind you were bringing out the best in me. In a way, I should thank you. Maybe I should’ve punched you instead. Maybe both. Probably both. When the time came, I did neither. 

When I found you; you said sorry with pure, genuine shame in your eyes and I knew right then that I forgave you. Bianca and I knew what we signed up for when we became friends with you. For a while, I think I pretended to still be mad-- you deserved it for the stunt you pulled. I didn’t mean it though. I couldn’t stay mad at you for long. I still can’t. I didn’t say thank you or I hate you or I love you. I didn’t say any of the things I wanted to say-- I’m still a coward like that. Instead, I told you off, pretending to be mad for a little bit, and forgave you in an instant. You told me you were sorry, that I was your best friend, that you cared and you were so, so sorry. I knew you meant it and I got butterflies in my stomach all over again. I wonder if you saw the way I blushed. 

As much as a little part of me hopes that you saw, I know it’s for the best you didn’t notice. 

-

The next time I met up with you was… less than ideal. I wanted to help you, to impress you with the Move Tutor and how far I had come, to help you train and not lose sight of you again on this journey that for too long had been spent apart. You, me, and Bianca were a team-- we were supposed to be at least. But that day, when I struggled to keep my balance on the ice and shake off the arms that held me in a vice grip, I realized that was never going to happen. You had to save me again-- and my pokemon this time as well. Looking back, it’s a little sad. But even though you charged into that icy wasteland to save me, you insisted it was our teamwork,  _ us _ , that saved the day. You highlighted my accomplishments and my strengths even though you did most of the work, even though I was the one who had to be saved. You put yourself in danger for my sake and then turned out to make sure my ego wasn’t bruised. I learned that day that you had so many battles to fight I knew nothing about. I learned just how determined and powerful and kind you were. I learned that you were very, very much out of my league (in more ways than one). 

You make it very hard to get over you, you know that? 

-

I don’t remember what happened after that. I left you in Cold Storage and then… darkness. Something happened that I wouldn’t be proud of, but the next thing I knew I was on top of some crumbling tower being whisked away bridal style by none other than-- you guessed it-- you. 

You picked me up, you carried me like I was a prince. I remember the feeling, the waves of consciousness fading in and out as you descended the steps. I couldn’t find it within me to open my eyes, but I knew you were the one holding me. I remember the sting of dust in my throat and the clouds that swirled around us both. My heart was pounding, drowning out the ringing in my ears and anything you whispered to me. I could only pray that you couldn't hear it, that you truly believed I was asleep. I wouldn't have been of help anyway, and yes, I know it was selfish of me, but I felt something in those brief moments unlike anything I had before. 

I couldn't feel the soreness in my muscles or the pounding of my headache. I felt your arms around me, strong yet gentle, wrapped tightly and holding me close to your chest. I could hear the ragged desperation in every breath, every heartbeat entangling with my own. I didn't dare move, didn't dare speak, because for a moment, up there in the clouds, it was only us. For a moment, there wasn't a single person or thing or problem that existed-- only us, untouched, unburdened. Perhaps it was a side effect of my brain-scrambling induced delirium, but there, in those briefest of moments, I was yours. 

I never wanted you to let go.

-

I love you. 

I want you to be happy. I want you to love her as much as I love you, to run your fingers through her hair and feel your heart flutter like mine does when you smile at me. I want you to find your epilogue in her even though I know it's not going to be me in your arms. I love you so much it hurts sometimes.

And because I love you, I want you to find all of that in her. Love her like you've never loved anything else before. I want you to look at her and feel like you're flying, to bring her face into focus when you want something to hold onto, for her to be your shoulder to cry on and your lips to kiss. 

You deserve each other. You complete each other. You love each other. 

So go, Black. Hold her tight. Kiss her silly. Become your best self with her by your side. I'll always be there to support your dream-- so go get her. 

Your Best Friend,

Cheren

-

“This is… wow! Holy shit, dude!” Bianca announced, shuffling the papers around in her hands. Cheren glanced over at her from the kitchen, his back turned for a moment away from the iced tea he was making. 

“What are yo-- BIANCA!” he yelped, almost dropping the glass in his hand as he rushed over, wanting to tear the letter from her hands. 

“The ink is still wet, did you just finish this?” she asked. Cheren looked over her carefully-- nothing in her expression or tone gave the impression that she was judging him, but she did just read his innermost desires in the form of a love letter, so there was always the possibility. 

“Uh.”

“This is really good. It’s like… like an 80s romance manga. Your language is so… flowery,” Bianca said nonchalantly. “I had to look up ‘pretense’ while I was reading. But uh, this is kinda self-deprecating.”

“Bianca I’m having a love crisis here,” Cheren replied flatly. 

“I get that, but I think you and I both realize actually being in a relationship with Black would just reignite those old feelings of being… not enough, I guess? You’re always comparing yourself to him in your letter, being romantically involved would be awful for your self-esteem.”

Cheren sank into the couch. “I am  _ grieving _ , Bianca.”

“I know that, you goofball, I just wanted to make sure you’re like… doing ok. There’s some heavy stuff in that letter.”

“It’s cathartic to get it down on paper. I’m never gonna tell him or give him the letter because it would cause tension between us and burden him unnecessarily, but I still wanted to write it down and… I don’t know.”

“I get that,” Bianca replied. “We can talk about it if you want. I know you want what’s best for Black and you’d support him through everything. I know you love White as much as I do and want her to be happy too, but it still hurts when your crush dates someone else, you know?”

Cheren stayed silent for a few moments, resting his chin on his hands. “Yeah.”

The two of them waited there for a moment, collecting their thoughts, before Cheren suddenly looked up at her and said “shred it.”

“What?”

“Shred the letter. I don’t want to see it and have second thoughts. Black doesn’t deserve to have a best friend stuck in the past. I’m gonna get over it and move on. Maybe not right now, but soon. I have to shred the letter.”

Bianca shrugged. “If you insist,” she said, feeding each page through the shredder. They both watched as the melodramatic confession-- and Cheren’s long standing pining for his best friend-- was ground into dust. 

“That hurt,” Cheren admitted, “but that felt good.” Content as he felt, he couldn’t help looking confused when Bianca suddenly pulled the shredder’s bin from its place in the machine. 

”What are you doing?” Cheren asked, watching Bianca dump his shredded love letter all over the dining room table. She was arranging the pieces into little piles on squares of cardboard while unloading cans of spray paint from her backpack. 

“Are you spray painting my confession?” he asked cautiously. “Why do you have spray paint in your backpack anyway?” Bianca turned to him with a huge smile. 

“Yup! I’m making it into confetti. I have the spray paint because I’m making street art.”

“Oh. Can uh… can it wait? Also can it be done outside? I don’t want paint fumes all over my house.”

Bianca shrugged. “You mean you don’t want me to trash your living room when you’re feeling crummy and emotionally vulnerable?” she asked, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. She sat beside Cheren as he chuckled, gently pulling on his tie and letting him lean into her shoulder. 

“What do you say we talk about this and cry a bit over a sad movie and a bottle of champagne?” she asked. 

Cheren sighed contentedly. Love-life crisis or not, he would always have a shoulder to cry on and friends by his side. “That sounds wonderful.”


End file.
